


Book 1: Primordial

by Thisisnotthenerdyouarelookingfor



Series: Spirit-Touched [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Airbending & Airbenders, Alternate Universe, Dragons, Dysfunctional Family, Episode: s01e03 The Southern Air Temple, Episode: s01e06 Imprisoned, Fire Nation (Avatar), Firebending & Firebenders, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hei Bai - Freeform, Kyoshi Island, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of genocide, Omashu (Avatar), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Revolution, Rumors, Senlin Village, Southern Water Tribe, Spirit World, Survival, Unagi - Freeform, Wakes & Funerals, Waterbending & Waterbenders, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25795042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thisisnotthenerdyouarelookingfor/pseuds/Thisisnotthenerdyouarelookingfor
Summary: Every epic quest has to start somewhere; this one starts all over the world, when too-powerful children are united by a cause.
Relationships: Aang & Katara & Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Aang & Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Agni & Zuko (Avatar), Azula & Iroh (Avatar), Druk & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Kanna & Katara (Avatar), Kanna & Sokka (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Sokka & Suki (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Spirit-Touched [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764433
Comments: 76
Kudos: 259





	1. Favor

**Author's Note:**

> Book 1! I'm so excited to see where this goes. To everyone who commented, bookmarked, and gave kudos on Spirit-Touched, thank you so much. It means so much that y'all enjoy this idea. I hope you like the start of this one!

People of the Fire Nation tend to forget the true nature of the Caldera throne. The written history of the Fire Nation makes that clear. Sozin’s decrees only show the most recent of incidents.

The Fire Lord began as the leader of the Fire Sages. The Fire Lord is supposed to be the living enforcer of Agni’s will, spiritually guiding the Fire Nation and ensuring the prosperity of Agni’s people, physically and metaphysically. Agni takes vessels from the Royal bloodlines for a _reason_.

When Raava is reborn close to the Royal bloodlines, Agni’s Will takes a backseat to the delusions of mad men. Sozin uses Agni’s blessing to overturn the balance of the world for far more than the century that the Air Nomads cease to exist.

After all, without Air, Fire cannot blaze.

Azulon, the next of the lost Fire Lords, twists his father’s dream of simply subjugating the other nations into the brutal attacks on the Southern Water Tribe. Some say he intended to ensure the breaking of the Avatar cycle, carrying out his father’s last goal; others say he intended to bring them under Fire Nation rule. 

The Northern Tribe retreats and cuts off trade and communication in response.

After all, if Water is lost, Fire loses control.

He sends his son to eliminate the last of the dragons. Iroh brings back bloodied teeth and scales, and earns his title with his strong bending. _The Dragon of the West._

Iroh puts Ba Sing Se under siege for six hundred days, chipping away at the Outer Wall until he loses his son. It is that day when Agni takes a member of the royal family under his favor again.

If it takes losing family to Earth to learn the Will of Fire again, Agni will not hold grudges and simply reclaim His children.

Ozai takes what he can, picking up crumbs of power and influence from his father and brother. He does no good to Agni’s people. The least he does is tie Raava’s reborn bloodline into the Royal bloodline.

Zuko is lucky to be born. He is also born under the wings of Agni, already destined for greatness. He will bring back the spiritual nature of the Fire Nation, and carry her back to balance. Azula, born lucky, will carry Agni’s will out from the shadows, bringing light back to the darkest corners of Agni’s people.

Banishing his vessel and harming his protected will only shift Agni’s favor farther from the Caldera throne.

The braziers burn warm only when Azula sits in the Heir’s seat; even then they burn low, in anticipation of Agni’s vessel. Ozai lights them every day, but the flames burn cold and cast only shadows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Agni takes Zuko to the last of his first children. To those who first learned to bend fire. To those who will raise his vessel properly.

Ran and Shaw are not surprised when his flames bear a child, simply curious. The child, scarred despite Agni’s flight, recoils at the sight of them, afraid for his life and theirs. 

They take him to their den. He sits in a corner, confused and afraid. He does not eat that first night, suspicious of their motives. He curses at the wind, calling out to someone, anyone, to tell him what happened.

His scar forms the shape of a flame pulling away from his left eye. Agni caught him quick enough to save his vision and hearing; the superficial damage, while healed, is prominent.

When he finally collapses in the opening of the den, they pull him in, towards the warmth of their bodies, for it will not do for a vessel of their Father to waste away in the cold. 

  
  
  


Zuko wakes to unfamiliar surroundings. He wakes to the warmth of daylight and the content rumbling of dragons. He opens his eyes to the sun shining down upon him and the dragons flying joyfully around him, falling into a dance they have known since a time before humans. 

He tries to flee at first, hoping to return to the Caldera and apologize for his misdemeanor. Ran catches him as he nearly pitches himself off the lip of the cave and settles him back in the den, where he had been pulled to the center the night before. She tucks him under her wing and does not let him escape. Shaw enters later, bearing the spoils of a successful morning hunt, the carcasses of two boar-q-pines carried in his front paws.

Zuko pouts as they strip the boar-q-pines of their quills methodically. He tries to wriggle his way out of the cave, to little avail. Ran and Shaw are bound and determined to keep him there. 

“Why are you doing this? Why are you keeping me here?” He finally asks after they have eaten and summarily fed him. They do not answer aloud. Why would they? Their purpose has been given, they do not need mortal tongues to know.

Shaw presses a claw to the top of Zuko’s head and shows him an impression of his time with them. Zuko sees himself appear in a whorl of flame, the flames themselves telling the dragons that he is their duty now. 

“Why now? Why _me_ ?” Shaw stops sending him visions and instead responds with the raw truth. _Because you are our Father’s vessel. Because you are strong, and have been strong, but you are a mere_ child. _It is our duty to care for you when those entrusted with it betray the principles of our Father._

Zuko, overwhelmed by the past days’ happenings, simply sits down. Everything makes less sense than before, for who would expect this?

Spirit-Touched are infamous legends across the world. Companions of the Avatar, one or two scattered into the history of nations, revolutionizing bending and sometimes nations. The problem here is that the Avatar has been gone for decades, nearly a century by now. Why would the spirits have any reason to take hosts?

The answer, of course, is that Raava hasn’t been present for decades, and the world needs to be rebalanced, with or without her influence. The imbalance leaks into the Spirit Realm, making harmless spirits malicious and aggravating those like Koh into more action. 

Not that Zuko needs to know that now. Now, what he needs is care, and rest, and time. Time to learn and grow and become who he is meant to be before taking on the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few weeks fall into a routine of Zuko trying to escape and the dragons keeping him there. There is very little that Zuko cannot get into, but this he cannot get out of.

Eventually he starts to slow down his escape attempts, because while they’ve been keeping him in a cave, they haven’t been doing anything to him outside of holding him down as he tries to wriggle his way out. The beasts seem almost amused at his attempts to leave and get back to his home. They do not attack, simply letting him exhaust himself and pulling him back into the cave each and every time he tries.

They give off the same warmth that he has been looking for since he was young. The warmth he could only ever find flashes of in the capital. The kind of inner fire that promises passion, but not obsession, warmth, but not burning heat, _life_ , and not destruction.

Perhaps he can learn to trust them.

  
  
  


Soon after, he meets the Sun Warriors. The descendants of a civilization that birthed the nation of his birth, who can give him a new purpose. 

He gets along well enough with them, given their reverence for the old masters and his status as their ward. It is entirely unlike his time as a Prince, when people fled at the sight of him and his family.

Zuko has never had friends of his own, only Azula’s friends, and they were never especially close to him. He has never been given the chance to meet people for himself, always kept in the palace where Azula got to go to the Royal Academy for Girls.

Maybe here, he can take a chance and make new connections, with people he knows see him as a person, and not just a Prince.

  
  
  


Whenever he approaches the Eternal Flame, his inner fire blazes a little warmer, as if recognizing kin. He is told that It was the first fire given to humans to bend, and they have kept it burning ever since. Somehow, he knows that isn’t the whole truth.

When Agni first gave fire to humans he gave a part of himself too. The elements have always been the domain of spirits; when humans are given them to utilize, the spirits must give their elements through free will. Only then can the natural energies they preside over be used.

The murmur of flame in his chest roars brighter in the presence of the First Gift, as if to say, _This is us. This is part of us and who we are, and who we are meant to be._

When he carries it to the masters who have cared for him for the first time, and sees the true power of dragons’ fire, his heart and flame rejoice in the passion of the True Masters Of Flame.

Zuko knows this in his soul, even as his body is young and untrained. He knows the passion and true peace of pure firebending, surely as if he had been taught from the day of his birth.

Who better to teach him now, than the last Children of the Sun?


	2. Upheaval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fire Nation is a nation of passion and life; they are not and have never been entirely subservient to the Dragon Throne. They will not condone the direct murder of their own people. Meanwhile, Zuko accidentally breaks an heirloom of an ancient civilization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! I hope y'all are as excited as I am. Couple of quick things: there are some mentions of death in this chapter so be forewarned. Azula is characterized very differently here: she was closer to her brother and more disillusioned with Ozai, so she's not as eager to gain his approval here. Iroh is also different: he is operating under the assumption that two people he considered his children have died and is grieving and angry as such.

When Zuko is spirited away after the disastrous Agni Kai, the Fire Nation fractures.

Ozai puts out decrees, declaring Zuko conditionally banished, calling him weak and deserving of punishment.

The people who saw the match disagree. Often. Publicly. They barely last days afterward, under the might of the Imperial Firebenders.

Gossip spreads through the Fire Nation, of how the Fire Lord burned the face of his own son and killed him for speaking up in the name of his people. The people think of their own families, their children, their parents, their husbands and wives, and think, _ if the Fire Lord did that to his own son for speaking out for them, what must Ozai be sending his armies out to? _

Iroh is furious. Zuko is gone, the people are nearly rioting, and Ozai continues with his farce, hiding his lack of regard under false proclamations and suppression of all those who would speak out.

At least Azula has not given in to Ozai’s deception. She refuses to speak to the Fire Lord, livid at the thought of her elder brother’s death, but hiding it under a guise of calm indifference. She has gathered her friends and allies, and told them to spread the word: the Fire Lord has overstepped his bounds, and the people of Fire cannot stand for it. She tells them to organize, to resist without bringing death upon their heads, to not let their guards down when the spirits come calling.

Her education in the matters of the Spirit World may have been brief, but this she knows: when the Fire Lord violates Agni’s Will, the balance is never shifted in favor of the people of Fire. It has fallen to her to care for her people, and she will not let her father’s actions harm them. They are  _ her people _ , after all.

In the meantime, she will play the perfect heir to a tyrant king.

Iroh gathers a crew from the dregs of the Fire Army and Navy, all those demoted for defending others, for being afraid to bend fire, for disobeying orders and not fighting, for everything and anything a superior officer might have found weak. He finds them, and he takes them out to sea, to find his fellows, and convince them to aid an enemy nation in deposing its ruler. He carries a blade bearing the message,  _ never give up without a fight, _ to remind himself of why he is doing this, and to mourn for the son Ozai never deserved.

They sail first to a colonial village in the northwestern Earth Kingdom, where it is rumored that the Deserter has taken refuge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Sun Warriors' Sunstone is not simply the crown jewel of an ancient civilization; it is a vessel of life, revitalizing spirits and calling down Agni’s blessing once a year.

It also happens to contain a baby dragon.

Zuko finds this out by accident, during the festivities of the summer solstice a year after his arrival, when the ancient gem cracks slightly under his touch. The percussive music and dancing grind to a halt as a dragon the size of a pygmy puma tumbles from the pedestal and scampers directly onto him.

Everyone stares for a moment at the fallen teenager, the baby dragon rubbing off the remains of its amniotic sac on said teenager, and the cracked Sunstone on the dais.

The percussive music starts up again as the Chief breaks away from the circles of dancers to help Zuko. The boy in question lies frozen on the ground as the baby dragon licks at him, his face flushed with mortification.

The dragon looks at him with gold eyes that glitter like coins, grins with needle like teeth and starts to nuzzle him eagerly, as if looking for the warmth within him.

  
  
  


When Zuko returns to the den with the baby dragon, whom he has taken to calling Druk, Ran and Shaw look at the pair with surprise in their gazes; they did not expect the last of their children to bond so suddenly with their human charge.

Zuko shouts up at them, demanding to know how this happened, why they left their egg where people could find it like that, and most importantly, how to get Druk out of his hair. Druk has settled in on Zuko’s shoulders, snout and wings snarled in his ponytail.

At the sight of the ancient dragons, Druk hops down and flies over to them, ignoring Zuko’s wincing and continual shouting. He settles under Shaw’s wing and falls asleep almost instantly.

Zuko pouts at their amusement, stomping off to sit at the lip of the cave and watch the sunset.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Iroh traverses the world for two years with the crew of the Wani, gathering reinforcements and planning to depose Ozai. All the while, Azula has been making use of her position as heir to the Dragon Throne to make plans for those who are most at risk from the upper echelons. She has let her network grow, to find the remains of broken divisions and sending them home, to feed the people who have been exploited for their labor, to search for any sign that might bring danger to her people.

She hears rumors of the Kemurikage stealing children, but only from the throes of death, and pain, and abuse. Her breath catches for just a moment as she remembers the eerie lack of ashes on the dais on  _ that day _ . 

She sends word to Iroh to look for the Kemurikage; perhaps they may have struck their first blow to bring humility to the Dragon Throne.

  
  
  


Iroh does not find the Kemurikage, but instead a network dedicated to striking against those who would attack the weak. In connecting them to the Order of the White Lotus, he finds quiet rumors of a boy who flies with a dragon.

He may not know the boy, but he is certain he will know the dragon. After all, it was his duty to eliminate them all those years ago, no matter how well that may have truly been carried out.

He directs his loyal crew to set a course for an ancient civilization; he has some visits to make.

  
  
  


Druk grows quickly, surpassing Zuko in height in a matter of months. He stays close to his parents, but his closest bond is Zuko. Despite the boy’s stubbornness and shouting, he is quite good with creatures, especially the young. They learn together nearly every day, this being one of the first cases of a human learning fire alongside a dragon.

When Druk is big enough to carry Zuko thrice, he begs to leave the island and fly around. It is in the nature of dragons to fly free, and nearly 100 years before they still did. Zuko supports him, but cautions against flying far; were it known that dragons still lived, there would be people pursuing them to no end. 

Even a short flight brings visitors, one of whom had been there many years before.

  
  
  


When Iroh meets with the Sun Warriors for the second time in a decade, he does not expect to see the scarred face of his nephew thought dead for two years. He whispers out a name, thinking a ghost of his regrets has come back to haunt him.

Zuko breaks Iroh’s mournful reverie with a call of “Uncle!” and a swift embrace. In his missing years, he has grown taller than Iroh, and broader than he was before. Iroh cups his face, thanking Agni for Zuko’s life and safety. He does not yet know how right he is.

Iroh sits Zuko down for a cup of tea and a chat. Zuko declares it leaf juice but drinks it anyway. He fills Zuko in on what has happened to the Fire Nation, of the fracturing peace, of Azula’s network, of the maddening nature of Ozai’s reign. Zuko, outraged, demands to know how to help his people. He was their Crown Prince, but he is also the vessel of their spirit patron. It is his right, no, his  _ duty _ , to help them.

Iroh gives him a pearl-handled dagger and a choice: to leave with Iroh on the Wani or to pave his own route to his destiny. Zuko has grown strong under the tutelage of the old masters; it is in his hands now to decide the path he wants to take.


	3. Vigilance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Southern Water Tribe have always been La's people. They are meant to brave the hardships of life, and it makes no difference what obstacles they face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3! Sorry it took so long. Couple of things: the concept of kadzhait is borrowed from Vathara's Embers, although it's interpreted differently here. There are indirect mentions of death, genocide, and mourning, so be forewarned. I hope y'all like it!

The Southern Water Tribe has never been as large as her sister to the North. 

Some say it is because of the climate, that the Northern peoples live further from the pole and have the resources to grow in many aspects. Those of the South must face a far more harrowing existence to thrive.

Others say it is the will of spirits, for La favors few, but those she chooses are strong and united. They cannot sit idle enough to build cities of ice, only having the strength to keep the tribe afloat through the cold polar winters, the vengeful spirits laying waste, and now the soldiers of Fire laying siege.

Where Tui’s blessed have a population enough to make an army of waterbenders and non-benders alike, La’s favored have skill and power enough to overwhelm most with unprecedented strength and strategy.

This does not keep them from capture and slaughter over years of Azulon’s reign. 

After all, when the attackers outnumber the warriors and waterbenders, when the children are caught up in the fires of cruelty, when each raid chips away at the available supplies, it is no wonder that the La’s people begin to fall. Her people never falter, but they lose far more than they can afford to. 

When the warriors leave to search for survivors and push back the remaining raiders, only the elders, the young children, and the women remain. 

There are only two truly left to protect the village: the open-eyed son of the chief and the last waterbender of the Southern discipline.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sokka leaves to hunt every other day, hoping for enough to feed the slowly shrinking village. He loses himself to the chase, searching and using his sight to guide his path. He begins to spend more and more time out on the ice, searching for prey, for resources, for everything that will let them survive the winter.

The other days, he spends out on the water with Katara, fishing and watching for any sign of raiding while she wrings salt out of the water to the best of her ability. They have taken to hunting the beasts of water together, the spirits of wolf and blackfish behind them. After all, there is no better way to catch puffin-seals than in their natural environment.

When they return, Katara splits off to store the salt and preserve everything they catch, while Sokka goes to the children. He teaches them what he knows of fighting in the guise of strategy games and keeps them out from under their mothers’ skirts. His watchtower grows taller every day with Katara’s aid, the eldest children remaining manning it while he hunts.

Katara learns the skills her mother might have taught her if she lived past that raid: sewing, cooking, weaving, and most of all, healing. Not the healing of spirit used by Tui’s Blessed, but the old ways, of herbs and minerals, of slender knives and sutures, of poison and antidote. When the next baby comes to one of the remaining mothers, she is there alongside her grandmother to keep them both alive. It is then that she learns the power of blood, when she keeps the mother from bleeding out as she holds her child for the first time.

They alternate keeping watch, with Katara taking the days leading to the full moon and Sokka taking those leading to the new moon. Most nights are mundane, with few disturbances. There are some, though, that test their wills.

Katara slips out onto the ice one night, under the pale moonlight and the darkness of the polar winter. She follows the call of the _kadzhait,_ the walking whales who seek the return of the waterbenders to their element.

Sokka finds her, hours later, colder than the ice of their home, yet still alive, still ready to fight and defend. She carries the icy waters within her now, a remnant of a time, when benders were truly one with their elements.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Council of Elders starts to ask for their counsel as the days grow shorter and the nights longer. After all, they have taken the responsibility left by the warriors and borne the tribe to the coming winter.

The villages have joined under a single banner; without the waterbenders and warriors, they have no true means of defense unless they band together. Sokka and Katara must bear their requests as the last remaining.

  
  
  


Kanna begins to teach Sokka how to appease the spirits with the traditional methods as the threat of starvation in the endless night grows. She teaches him to find the ailments of the spirit, to seek the forgiveness of all souls the village has wronged, and to warn away those who have forgotten but do not forgive.

He lays the boundaries deeper as the forgotten grow angrier.

She aids Katara in laying bodies to rest on the water, as those unprepared for the coldest nights succumb. She teaches her to seek out points of weakness, to reinforce where others cannot, and to make the judgment when their misery is worse than their fate. Katara spends even more time with the children after that, wanting to spare as many as she can.

La is Justice, but only Katara can bring mercy to those she encounters.

  
  
  


Sometimes, Sokka wishes they had not truly laid their mother to rest. Then, at least, he could see her, bring her to Katara, and feel her presence one more time. He wonders if it would be worth seeing her eyes pleading to let her go, worth the railing against Katara for the spirit she carries with her soul. He tries to dismiss the thought, but it lingers on the cold nights he stays awake, keeping watch on the village. Perhaps he would not feel so alone if he had held on.

He never mentions it to Katara, for her sake. The hope it would spark in her eyes isn’t worth the pain of knowing their mother isn’t truly there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the Air monk appears, Sokka doesn’t think anything of it. He is just one of the many that drift southward every year towards the Spirit Portals.

Except that he is far more tangible than those moving on, even more than those forgotten. When he comes close it feels like a summer breeze, not the cold lack of the other dead Sokka has encountered. 

The spirit beckons while they are out on the ocean, Sokka fishing and Katara wringing salt as always. Sokka turns to face him wide-eyed. The bright orange and yellow of his robes stand out starkly against the white of ice and the blues of water.

Sokka tells Katara to steer the boat as he follows the spirit, who has started to leave a mark in the snow. One befitting an airbender, but a trail nonetheless.

When they reach the glowing iceberg, the monk lays a hand against it, smiles sadly, and fades, bit by bit. He drifts southward, leaving the siblings alone.

Katara blasts away the snow covering the ice. Sokka looks back at it and does a double take, because what lies within can only be a Greater Spirit, one kin to Katara’s inhabitant. One of those he sees in dreams, frozen yet floating free.

Katara sees a boy underneath the cracks and the pulsing glow. She takes Sokka’s club and strikes at it suddenly, hoping beyond hope that the boy is somehow alive and they have not found the resting place of a vengeful child.

The iceberg cracks along previous paths, breaking apart to the touch of a vessel.

That which emerges is not what any would come to expect, not in a world where all the Greater Spirits have taken vessels.


	4. Anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Raava's vessel awakens once more, it is with a chance to start anew, to make balance in a world so far gone without it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4! TW: Nightmares, Eldritch horror description, death, grief/mourning. It ended up a little darker than what I was hoping for, but I hope y'all enjoy it anyway! The funeral rites come partially from 'we grieve our dead (but we look ahead)' by StellaHunterOfArtemis and partially from my own creation.

Vessels are figures of legend; old records and stories told in moonlight paint them larger than life, benders reaching impossible heights, far more than others could possibly be. Leaders, if not born then become, able to conquer the world in the blink of an eye, but benevolent enough to restrain themselves.

What the words of pastime leave out is their humanity. Very few accounts speak of them as people, preferring the same brush used for the Avatar.

Most tales have faded from modern storytelling; the spirits have not needed champions in eons. They have become interchangeable with spirits taking human form; Lady Tienhai was a person, a human, for a lifetime. Who’s to say she was not human first, with spirit coming second?

So few remain of those who know, who remember, who would seek to honor those who cross the veil in life, that it is a revelation to see the Avatar in a human state.

Aang is a _child._ A master airbender who invented a new form, yes, but still a child. He was a child before knowing his duty and remains a child after.

So has the world come, to where children, traumatized in youth but strong in spirit, must save it, preserve it, _renew it_.

Every Avatar brings a new age with them, whether or not it is as they intended.

Aang simply has more than just the World Spirit to turn to; far more than his predecessors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rumors of the last Southern waterbender fly in the years following the last raids. Sailors return home to nightmares of eerie control, of a presence weighing heavy on their souls, of inescapable cold sapping their strength and their will.

They speak of the ferocity of the warriors, how they fought back waves of flame with a wall of ice and battlecries and quick strategy. Of the energy that seemed to rally them to fight back again and again, slipping around weak defenses and avoiding oppressive offense.

Of the glowing eyes of a young warrior gathering up his people and sending them far beyond the soldiers’ ability to follow. 

Of the whipping winds and snow that chafed at their armor, that brought cold to overpower inner fire. 

Of the woman who forced their commander to the edge of the ice floes without lifting a finger, speaking an ultimatum in a voice that echoes deep in their bones:

_Leave, or he dies, drowning in boiling blood and frigid waters._

_Leave, or you will follow him to the depths._

_Leave, and return from whence you came to threaten my people._

_Leave, and take the mercy you are given in retreat, and know that you may never return without facing justice._

**_LEAVE._ **

  
  
  


When the rumors reach Caldera City, Ozai rejects them, publicly. He denounces the threat of unimaginable power coming to bear against them and declares the Southern Raiders failures, for surely all the waterbenders had been captured and they simply could not face their inadequacy. Most end up leaving the Fire Navy, but those remaining end up on a ship of misfit soldiers led by a retired general searching for his nephew.

This does not mean they die, of course. Rather, they spread further, in markets of small towns on islands whose trade has relied on the water for years, in the homes of spirits, where the people hope their patrons might do something.

The stories have always been there, despite purges of texts under the reigns of Sozin’s line. Passed along in old songs, in dances hardly any remember nowadays, in folktales far older than that which seeks to oppress them.

And this tale, of a Spirit punishing those who intruded on Its domain, sounds just like that of the ancients.

It inspires fear, but also the seeds of hope in the hearts of those willing to see change.

It gives a dragon-riding former prince a place to start looking for allies, for one who might be like him.

  
  
  
  


“Will you go penguin-sledding with me?”

Sokka and Katara have lived their entire lives under the shadow of war, and grown up far too fast in the wake of their mother’s death and their father leaving, but they are still children. They join Aang in penguin-sledding on the snowdrifts while Appa trundles across the snow, forgetting their burdens for just a little while.

He speaks with old grammar, old slang, turns of phrase that not even their Gran-Gran would know. His optimism is infectious, his bubbly laughter contagious.

They know, of course, that he is Raava’s chosen, the newest reincarnation. Sokka sees it plainly, in the luminescence of Aang’s airbending tattoos, in the markings of Raava’s touch at the base of his skull, and the presence of other, older spirits. Katara feels it as keenly as she does La’s cold fingers on the full moons of the dead of winter, the weight pressing against her soul and finding it enough to let live, _for now._

They let him keep his secrets close to his heart. They both know the weight of unimaginable expectation, and do not wish it on a child out of time. 

  
  
  
  


Aang asks them to join him as he returns to the Southern Air Temple. They do so hoping the bodies are gone, with the way Sokka has seen the spirits pass. 

A winged lemur alights on Aang’s arm as they arrive, eating a peach and inciting chase. Dust covers the towering spires and high arches that have stood the test of time.

Chasing the lemur does not detract from the fact that the Temple is empty, and silent. There are no lessons, no games of airball, no pie-throwing, no monks talking, _nothing._

The newly-named Momo leads Aang to a pile of bones with his old master’s robes and rosary. He picks it up and cries quietly, as he mourns the lives that might have been saved. Sokka and Katara each bring an arm around his shoulders, eyes downcast, mourning the lives lost, even so long ago. 

Aang sees the Fire Nation helmet and wonders, hoping their presence does not mean what he thinks it means. He visits the shrine of past Avatars and begs for answers, for guidance, for something. All he gets is the voice of memories past and the glowing gazes of his predecessors.

They lay the bones that remain to rest to the best of Aang’s memory. The flesh has already been picked off by scavengers and the decay of time, but the bones must be given to Pavan. They gather all those they can find and crush them to powder with Sokka’s club, and carry them to the highest spire and let the breeze take the dust where it pleases.

Spirits clad in orange and yellow whisper _thank you_ and dissolve in the wind, flying South where they may find peace. This is the only temple whose bones had not been laid to rest; the others had been tended by their respective villages.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they return, it is to a red-clad teenager with a dragon behind him, begging for the counsel of the last Southern waterbender.


	5. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting of vessels, of kin of spirits, is no small thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5! TW: death, destruction, suicides, mentions of panic attacks/anxiety. We're getting into the main story so I hope y'all are excited!

Fate is fickle, just as much as Tui is Time and La is Justice.

There is only so much the vessels can do at a time, most of them born generations apart and meeting only occasionally.

To date, there has never been a true meeting of all the Great Spirits in earthly form. 

But then again, Raava has not been missing for more than 16 years for millennia, leading back through centuries of tradition.

There have been conquerors, but not the utter destruction of a people, not the breaking of balance set off 100 years ago.

The air twists, restless without those who might seek to tame it. Those born to air that remain feel it in every breath, in every moment their nature lies trapped behind masked movements and honeyed words. They lose a fraction of hope every day, lose a breath of that which sustains them at heart. Knowledge is lost with every day spent in the shackles of imbalance.

The tides creep higher and higher as the poles shrink into themselves, hiding away by necessity disguised as choice. The ocean’s deserts fill with carcasses, flung off in the midst of storms, pulled under by the raging waves, thrown in the hopes of reaching freedom while knowing that which is the last gift is the only way out. There are less of those who might hope to control the seas every year.

The earth trembles, shaking off those who might hope to claim it. Endless marches leave villages ransacked, the soil trampled and crops lost to grinding machinery that traps those working day in and day out. Isolation becomes policy as those seeking refuge are turned away in favor of a prettier story to sell. Those of earth lose her most precious gifts, as starving bodies feed armies and leave nothing in their wake.

The fires burn hotter every year, raging across soil that crumbles instead of being renewed. The wildlife finds refuge in small towns that cannot afford their destruction, just as industry does, leaving toxicity in their wake, people begging for something that might help them, something that might return the balance. Those born of fire burn colder every year, unable to truly muster the warmth that brings life.

It has been far too long.

Something _must_ give way.

  
  


Aang sees the boy with the dragon and remembers his friend who sought to save them all those years ago. He thinks he might be friends with this dragon-boy too.

Sokka sees the sun, dragged down and shaped like a human, burning bright yet steady. He sees the scars and wonders what could have done such a thing.

Katara sees red. Red and gold and black and heat and burning and she almost moves without her own consent before recognizing kin of spirit. She stays herself, barely calm but willing to wait.

Zuko asks for a moment of their time, their knowledge of the rumors, and the whereabouts of the last Southern waterbender. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azula weaves a web of lies on a foundation of truth, and tells herself that this is what will keep her people safe, will keep them out of danger from threats she can subdue.

She sends anonymous letters to the Earth Kingdom in the hopes of keeping her people out of conflicts. She receives three responses: an irritatingly-coded letter stating Omashu’s intention to remain independent in the guise of a description of rabbits, a noncommittal answer from a merchant family in the south, and a curt remark from an advisor to the Earth King.

Letters from Iroh are quick to burn, though they speak only of tea and poetry and Pai Sho, She reads about the slight sweetness of dragon fruit and the benefits of lotus tea, and the beauty of the mountain hydrangea. 

They burn far from Ozai’s gaze, who condemns Iroh and his frivolities. Any set before him are scrutinized with an untrained eye and discarded, for one can only read so much about foreign blends before becoming sick of tea.

  
  


Ty Lee hears a whisper on the wind, a wisp of what might come to pass. She feels a lightening of the weight of those past and sends a prayer southward for their safe passage.

She was raised to know that every day would have to be faced under a façade. She grew up singing, voice nebulous and following the wind. She grew up as one of a set, people so focused on the matching that they did not see the features marking them different. 

When she dances, when she fights, erratic in motion, she stays in the air just a moment too long. When she rides in the air balloon she knows that if she were to tip over the edge she would not fall. Her bubbly voice travels on the wind, joyous and free even as she is not, even as she hopes for one day.

Across the world, those just like her feel the return of a breeze long gone, a breath of hope lost decades ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Agni and La may be opposites, but they have never been complements. No, that role falls to Pavan, for Agni, and Tui for La. They clash when they meet, Agni ruling the day and La the night, Agni giving warmth and La bringing cold, Agni bestowing second chances and La upholding justice.

Their first meeting in this life is far different, and destroys all set precedent.

Katara reigns in her anger and vengeance enough to consider Zuko by his own measure and not that of her past experience. Zuko, awkward but polite, asks if they know of the last waterbender, who, if willing, could help him to bring change about.

La has been whispering about restoring balance and upholding justice for the entirety of Katara’s life. She questions where he picked that up from, who told him of a duty entrusted to her as a mere child.

He hesitates, eyes darting around as if looking for enemies. It seems as though he does not find them when he settles and tells them he was given a responsibility by dragons and his uncle and also he’s been able to see the fires dying day by day and he’s known since he was a child and he cannot do this alone, he doesn’t know where to start and was hoping they knew and--

Sokka cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder and a quick nod. Aang bounces up, spritely and excitable, asking about where he found the dragons and where he got the one he came on and can he show him some firebending that he learned from the dragons?

Zuko’s eyes grow wide as he stares down at the bubbly monk, his oranges and yellows betraying his origins and his inner fire giving away his nature. Sokka makes a gesture as if to say, _don’t say anything, no one needs to know,_ and so he leaves it at that, answering Aang’s questions as quickly as he can as the monk gets more and more excited.

  
  
  


Kanna always knew her grandchildren would have to leave; it was just a matter of sooner or later. The tribe is well off enough now that they may leave, though what the future may bring is still in question. Katara’s warning, years ago, was enough to keep invaders away; whether it will be enough when she leaves is up in the air.

Sokka lays the spirit boundaries deeper, warning away the forgotten dead and the _kadzhait_. He leaves traps around the camp and hopes it will be enough for them to catch something.

Katara pulls up a wall of ice to surround the camp and roots it deep, as impenetrable as she can make it. She draws up handfuls upon handfuls of salt to save for preservation.

They bow at Kanna’s feet and ask for her blessing; she gives them words of hope, of return, of the choice to change with the world and make it better for themselves. She embraces them one last time before letting them set off, into the horizon.


	6. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling the world among great spirits is not just grand prophecies and daring fights; it is also the mundane moments, of learning, of realization, of familiarity among strangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6! I hope y'all are excited! Thanks so much to everyone who has commented and given kudos', you're all so lovely and I love the interactions I've had with y'all. TW: indirect mentions of death and loss of sanity. Credit goes to andromeda3116 for the Water Tribe constellation stories from "such selfish prayers".

It is an aged world that sees the return. Most have forgotten, save those remaining from before. They are a rare sight these days. 

Sightings are dismissed easily, a smudge of brown and a streak of red in orange-painted skies simply reflections. 

A retired general sees a flash over the horizon as he takes his evening tea and prays for the safety of his nephew. A king, eccentric yet good to his kingdom, pauses as he plays with a pet rabbit and reminisces on the old days.

A crown princess hears of a boy wearing a demon’s mask and bearing dual dao and thinks of that day on the dais once more. A noble’s daughter feels the turn of the earth, hears the whispers of those that came before, and plans her way out. 

A bearer of Time knows her counterpart comes ever closer as the tides grow strong and the endless night drags on, power in her soul and her hands. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Appa’s bulk casts a compact shadow on the fields below while Druk snakes through the clouds above, Aang laughing at his antics while Zuko grips his mane tightly and tries not to tumble off. Sokka hangs over the edge of the saddle, gaping at sights he has only ever heard of in the dead of night from spirits long gone from this plane. Katara alternates between peering alongside her brother and working on embroidery, needle flashing as she captures the sky and sea in blues and whites and beads of nacre. She carries her art with her, a reminder of home from so far away.

They pass over an island known to be the tail of the world’s largest whale as Aang eagerly chatters about riding the elephant koi. The island, blanketed in the melting snow of polar summer, is abandoned now, naval ships long gone and small buildings barely remaining. The rumors have chased away most that would dare return.

This is not a time of strife; they pass their time learning, through bending and hunting, through games and song. Aang’s young tones fill the air, booming loud and whispering soft in songs long forgotten and yet remembered in a boy out of time. His songs of old ring out in the open sky, complete and yet missing something. 

At night, Katara and Sokka weave stories in undulating melodies, of Torngarsuk painting the sky for Tui, giving him the bear, the iceberg, the koi, the penguin-otter and the tiger-seal so he would not be lonely. Of the blackfish and the wolf, one eternally tied to land and one to sea and how they came together. Of Tui and La, and learning the push and pull from those that were the first. At first, the dissonances ring eerie in the dark, but under the bright moon and above the crashing waves they become a comfort. 

At dawn, Zuko’s deepening rasp paints scenes of life. He greets the sun with low, rolling tones, describing the loves of princes and peasants alike. Later comes the tunes of daily life, of hoping to find pearls while collecting mussels, of prodding the ostrich-horse to carry its load, of waiting for those you love deepest.

After a day, Aang brings them down to an island off the coast of the Earth Kingdom whose waters churn erratically.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kyoshi Island is home not only to those descended from the citizens of the Yokoya Peninsula, but also some that sought refuge in the wake of disaster. Wearers of blue appear randomly over the years, bobbing in the Unagi’s waters, many barely alive enough to see the shores. Most do not survive the night, isolated from the community and succumbing to that which they once controlled. 

Those that survive meld seamlessly with the Islanders, making what they can of what they have. The push and pull changes, more accustomed to months of dark and light than dark nights and light days. Some lose it entirely, broken ties wreaking havoc on the mind and soul. Some learn to mix the old and new, gentle waves and crumbling earth into something they have not known before. Few maintain the old ways, holding onto a home that slips farther away, day by day.

Those of Water on Kyoshi Island keep to their own, and do not disperse as those of Air did, decades ago. Hearing of unification under a single banner, of the warriors who left, of the one who cut the invasions off, tells them far too little, and yet far too much, of a home they might return to someday. 

  
  
  


Kyoshi Island is made up of coastal towns, some distributing Water Tribe goods in exchange for azure dyes and the promise of metals, while others trade in skill, drawing the coin of paranoia for sharp eyes and impartial regard for safety. They look far less at eyes and skin than skill and willingness to learn.

Water Tribe trade has dropped off over the last few years, newly negotiated agreements falling to the wayside in the face of a slaughter that caused them to unite. The occasional boat comes, usually a woman or two guiding it, with furs and dyes and jerky and intricate beadwork. Their work is meticulous as always; they do not speak of the one who struck fear in the hearts of the Fire Nation.

When the warriors assemble to counter a possible invasion, they are met with a ragtag bunch: a bald boy in orange with a lemur on his arm patting at an air bison, a teenager in red trying to wrestle a dragon into landing on the ground, a blue-clad youth gesturing wildly with a boomerang and exclaiming at the greenery, and a young woman tossing a ball of water from hand to hand, freezing and unfreezing it idly as she drags whitish grains into a pouch at her waist.

Suki approaches the girl, the others still preoccupied. She seems open, yet guarded. Far younger than the others who come to trade, yet her eyes are old ( _old like the storm, like the roaring waves that show no mercy)._

Suki asks for names and purpose; foreigners are not received idly, but seeking refuge is common, simple assimilation as it is. The girl, Katara, brings forth furs and beadwork, whatever she can spare of what they brought. The bald boy, Aang, bounces excitedly, inquiring about the elephant koi with a mischievous glint in eyes of taupe. The boy in red, Zuko finally brings his dragon to ground and bows, something familiar to Suki in his face, of gold eyes and fine-boned features and a splash of red drawing the eye.

The brown-haired boy, Sokka, eyes her fans and skirt and heavy armor and asks if she can really fight with those, don’t they restrict movement? The other warriors muffle laughter as Suki stares at him, clocking his club of bone and boomerang and lack of armor and asks can _he_ really fight with _those_ , isn’t he leaving himself open to attack? He scoffs and immediately jumps to the defensive as she whips out her fans and aims for the legs.

It’s been years since Sokka has had a live opponent to truly spar with without the threat of bending. Suki hits hard, with years of training behind her, but Kyoshi is isolated, and trade is mostly peaceful. His friends look on, Katara yelling at Sokka to _stop being an idiot, they’re hosting us!_ Aang cheers while Zuko squints, looking for patterns and stances.

The warriors holler Suki’s name as they clash, Sokka slipping around and getting in the gaps between impacts. They stand evenly matched, Suki only gaining the advantage from a rock solid foundation and the training of those who choose to share what they remember. 

He asks for best of three. She agrees, but only if he wears the armor. He agrees, but only if she switches out her fans for something closer to his weapons.

  
  


Aang remembers this place in the depths of his soul. He feels the sense of belonging, sees the mix of people, and remembers a home from long ago. Kyoshi Island was not always named for Kyoshi, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were confused: Reference Spirit-Touched World-Building for my notes on the music included here.  
> Other things: Katara and Sokka are not the only ones doing things for the livelihood of the village; the remaining continue doing what they always have. It is simply more difficult to get what they make out of the village. As the rumors spread it gives them more leeway to trade, although they have to get to Kyoshi Island and other port cities without the benefit of their regular sailors. The women who can will go and trade.  
> About Sokka: he may be inexperienced in general, but he has the benefit of spirits who taught him when he asked, so he has more skill than he did in his original fight with Suki. He also knows not to underestimate women.He’s not going to demean the Kyoshi warriors for being women any more than he could to his own, very strong sister. That still doesn’t mean he has tact.


	7. Advance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the ripples fade from the meeting of Great Spirits, change comes over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7! Sorry for the wait, but we're getting a move on here! TW: death, warfare, the Unagi eating people. I hope y'all like it!

The Fire Nation has not known peace for generations. Neither has it known the blessings of the spirits. 

The Instigator slaughtered an entire people in the span of days, taking care to remove every bit of resistance, all those who might be what he sought to exceed.

The War King reduced those who might carry its legacy on to scraps, forced to unite and leave behind all ties in order to survive.

The Dragon of the West left a trail of death and destruction in the wake of a vicious army, laying siege to the walled city and leaving it to thousands of refugees under a king ignorant of the war waged under his nose.

The people of Fire choke on smoke and muddied water, and starve on lands bereft of life. Poor harvests and dying industry drag the spark from those left to nothing while the titled reap the benefits of war, silent under an ineffective ruler. Soldiers punish those beneath them in the absence of battle, too hungry for the thrill of glory to recognize the suffering they inflict.

The first mark of Ozai’s reign is the burning of his firstborn. The second, whispers of vengeance, of the spirits returning with anger and poison. The third, the desertion of far too many to the winds of change. 

When the whispers carry the weight of a scarred boy with a dragon, a clear-eyed boy with spirit of wolves behind him, and a bald monk in robes of orange and yellow, all that is clear is that something must be done.

( _the waterbender is already feared, her calls for justice sparking hope in the forgotten)_

Ozai sends a commander with aims to finish the Moon and Ocean, who destroyed knowledge and has yet to reap the rewards of it.

Zhao sets course for Kyoshi with a fleet behind him, the command of an unproven king leading his charge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While people in shades of blue evaluate her beadwork, glimmering nacre held only by precise stitching, Katara simmers, thinking of time long past, of what those who left and returned did not say. She draws salt from brackish water and wonders _why did they not come home, what ties them to this place._

Sokka meets Zuko’s harsh strikes with deflection and smooth movement, with distraction and sleight of hand, bobbing along to the rhythm of their spar. He talks as he only just dodges a swipe of swords, easing open gaps where he can find them. The warriors watch with keen eyes, seeing where the training of a master meets unfamiliar, unpredictable form and forges on. 

Zuko breathes with purpose, dao extensions of his arms as he clashes with Sokka. The other boy clearly does not have all of the experience he does; he makes up for it by being infuriatingly slippery, quips flying all the while. He contains his growled responses, watching instead for the arc of a boomerang that caught him out last time.

Aang wanders, across the shores and up the mountains that do not reach the heights he is accustomed to. He eats his weight in pastries and does not regret it. He surfs on the elephant koi off the coast and watches the bubbling and churning in the basin with a note of intrigue. He practices his airbending forms out of habit long unbroken, looking over his shoulder for something, _someone_ not there. 

( _if he is the last, what has he already forgotten that can never be called back?)_

  
  
  


Dark spots on the horizon instill suspicion; this only grows as the ships become visible. The Fire Nation has withdrawn most trade from Kyoshi in recent years; a fleet, then, is not welcome.

Kyoshi Islanders do not remain idle to threats of invasion, despite their policy of isolation. The Warriors prepare, as do the travellers, looking to protect a place which gave them safe haven.

If they can keep the fleet out of the harbor, they will hold Kyoshi strong.

The ships laying anchor are immobilized by a thought and a flick of Katara’s wrist. Ice encrusts the hulls of iron behemoths, denting and gutting hulls as it spreads. Soldiers flit across frosted decks, slipping on verglas that glints in the light amidst shouted orders.

Cracks appear in the iceberg as mounted trebuchets are set alight and aimed at unbroken shards. 

The waves begin to churn under the glaze, water warm underneath, keeping that which lies below in comfort.

Colorful frills with black ribbing rise above the water as the ships continue their advance, launching iron and stone and explosives and flames at the village on the shore. A red-clad figure snatches flames and heat from the air while one in orange and yellow swings a staff in sweeping motion, buffeting air to keep the remainder away. Earth and water rise on the shore, an eclectic mix above the new barrier, prepared to defend.

Iron and stone strike the surface of the unfrozen water.

Sailors leap from sinking ships, aiming for the bottleneck of the harbor.

The Unagi unleashes a blast of water and _feasts._

The fleet does not retreat.

Defenders take the ships on the outskirts, those that the soldiers left early on. They aim abandoned trebuchets at those still caught in the melting ice, drawing attention away from the village.

The fleet does not retreat.

The largest ship fires directly at thatched roofs and wooden structures, igniting even as water rushes to smother the flames. The people have left for other ports; all that remains is tinder for crackling fire.

The fleet moves onward even as its weapons turn against it.

A sailor aboard a ship that has remained intact sees golden eyes in a fine-boned face marred by red, one that the Fire Nation remembers as having died three years ago. 

This is not a successful siege; nor is it a rout. The fleet can only hold position as long as the warriors do not continue to take ships.

The fleet does not retreat so much as it limps away, faced with defeat and armed with knowledge.

Hawks bearing missives to the Heir to the Caldera Throne alight before nightfall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The _Wani_ sails along the coast of the Earth Kingdom, ostensibly inspecting the Fire Nation’s captured ports for piracy and signs of dissension. Iroh wanders through markets and teahouses, gathering intel with a sharp ear and a taste for jasmine and ginseng.

He meets with a mad king under false pretences and warns him of hidden advances in the South, and takes a ride on a mail cart just to do so.

Letters to Azula bear more weight, of what he cannot tell her and what she must know. There is more at stake now, lives held in the balance with every move Iroh makes. The board becomes more visible with each passing day, and Azula’s role more precarious. Ozai’s paranoia knows no bounds; every meeting, every letter, is a risk.

Azula is neither kind nor good, but she can be trusted to do right by her people. She holds respect in the palm of her hand and lies in wait for the moment to strike. She holds control, even as her people disappear into the murk of growing resentment.

It is only a matter of Time.


	8. Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the World Spirit travels northward, Earth comes to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8! I hope y'all are excited! Chapter count has been set to reflect recent outline changes. TW: Imprisonment. I hope you enjoy it!

Omashu has been a city of innovation from its inception. The mail system is legendary for its efficiency and ingenuity (though not its safety) during the Hundred Years’ War. Strong, well-trained earthbenders line the city walls and chutes, maintaining the standard Omashu has held for centuries.

The king has led resistance to Fire Nation incursions for nearly a century. It is no small wonder that the province has been left untouched by the Fire Nation, but the efforts of a stronghold built from the Kolau Mountains.

Omashu remains within itself, even as Ba Sing Se closes its walls, as the Northern colonies creep further south, as Gaoling prioritizes trade above all else.

Omashu was built out of the ruins of war, and it will not let ruin come again. Omashu has never been held by those not of Oma’s line for long. 

Omashu’s king meets with a traveling general, mind open to the possibilities. War creeps over the horizon, and Omashu will meet it.

  
  
  


Druk winds around Zuko in Appa’s saddle, the young dragon easily tired by comparison. Agni’s rays beat down, nary a cloud in sight. Zuko feels the warmth, the energy, permeate his bones and settle, a relief after days in the weak light of the poles. He runs sun-warmed hands over Druk’s flank and feels the scales ripple under his fingertips, muscle and bone flexing beneath.

Katara dozes, the night growing more and more enticing as the full moon draws nearer. In the midst of polar winter, she remains awake, alert to everything, but here, in the bright daylight, in the warmth of familiar presences, she can sleep in peace. 

Sokka gazes out over the horizon, marveling and yet unnerved by the quiet. Few spirits reside so high up, those that do warned away by the strong energies of his companions. Sokka has never known this kind of quiet, the village and people always busy and spirits always aiming to leave this plane through the Southern Portals, not to mention those seeking revenge against La. Katara flies with him now, far from the drowned perpetually seeking blood. It is strange to remember the clamor when it seems so peaceful, so natural without.

Aang breathes in the thin air, disused lungs remembering times past, of days spent on the clear sky, of the wind spiraling through the air, lifting his robes and flitting over his scalp. He rejoices in the feeling, exhaling gusts that flatten Appa’s mane and shake off the excess that had just started to grow in. He does not feel so alone up here, the mountain breezes warm and comforting.

  
  
  


Riding the mail carts is just a bit of fun, just until they fly off the track and into the open air. It’s not unlike riding Druk, at times, but tends to have fewer handholds. 

Omashu’s king calls them to task for vandalism, traveling under false pretences, and the malicious destruction of cabbages.

He gives them three tasks that must be completed, or those trapped will be consumed by the earth. Zuko’s mask is damning, both hands and legs bound, preventing him from breaking the crystal off. Sokka’s weapons lay beneath his feet, out of reach for the miniscule stretch he can manage. Katara’s waterskins are likewise confiscated even as her hands are trapped to prevent any flow of movement.

Tests of subterfuge, for speared keys and goat-gorillas, to challenge, to break from the norm.

He lays a final challenge, combat with champion warriors. Aang responds with defiance, daring to fight a king on his home turf.

Trickery and battle are difficult to overcome, yet it is the final challenge which leaves Aang pondering.

After all, what’s truly in a name?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before Tui, Agni, and Pavan, before Raava and Vaatu, there was Bhoomi and La. Born together, giving and taking and shaping each other into forms only those there first will remember.

Bhoomi, holding and enclosing La, keeping her close yet not bound. La, carving ridges and pushing mountains, giving Bhoomi room to grow.

Bhoomi supported life and La nourished it. La brought change and Bhoomi grounded it.

When La’s people wash up on Bhoomi’s shores, she sends hers to care for them.

Is it not right for La to do the same?

  
  
  


Katara meets a boy of Earth, named for the spring, and loses him the next day.

Conquering a village for the sake of labor is not right. Forbidding earthbending to grasp at leverage is not right. Capturing the people of Earth, young and old, for the sake of ego and power is not right.

And it is most certainly not just.

It is not with a plan that Katara approaches her friends and incites a disturbance. It is only the knowledge that change must come.

And what is Water if not change?

Druk bounds across the hills, Zuko gripping his mane, gouging grooves and carving up boulders. They aim to imitate the movement of Earth, but end up just a little overexcited. Aang tests the power of wind on stones, growing from marbles to boulders with each breath. 

And Sokka? Sokka does what he has always done. He speaks for those unable to, and of course, argues with his sister.

Katara stares at the hapless warden with steel conviction and the sway of hearts behind her.

  
  
  


Her voice rings with the bells of justice, drowning out the unsteadiness under their feet, the distance from home, the years spent away from solid earth. She calls as if she is right where she needs to be, as if her youth and inexperience could never harm her conviction, her fairness.

Their hearts beat in time with hers, thundering at a fever pitch as earth pours from hearths and gives them purpose again, as fire roars and wind blasts to take them back to shore.

It is the call of ice from briny waters, the easy acceptance of Earth as her own even as she stands on water, the flash of light in steel blue eyes, the justice dispensed utterly fair, that tell them she is far more than she seems to be.

A warning gaze from the charismatic brother keeps any mention of it from spreading to the troops yet holding the village.

  
  
  


The bearer of Time pauses in her healing as her heart sings with purpose, with justice. She closes her eyes to see the Ocean’s work on a barge off a distant coast and knows this is the kind of work she and hers are meant to do, to bring change to this world.

The dual vessel feels the trembling of the Earth and hears the whispers on the wind, of the return of earth to Earth. She presses callused hands to loam and feels triumph in the reuniting of those gone for so long. 

The keeper of the Flame smiles behind a necessary mask and feels the warmth of hope alight in the inner fire of many, as sickly flames of greed and envy flee. He celebrates a sister-in-arms with memories of his own learning her own form of justice.

The World Spirit’s vessel sees the freeing of a village, the return to a natural balance, and thinks to himself, _this is what we are meant for, this freedom from shackles, this return to the World._ He sees a fellow keep her duty, and loosens the weight of his own, just a little.

The seer finds victory in the form of his sister, and thanks the spirits for her safety, for Justice is not all that she is, and kindness returns to steel blue eyes that soften with every passing moment. Glory is not what either seeks, and he hopes it does not come back to bite her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Admiral Zhao of the Fire Nation Army receives a missive from a vital outpost of the colonies and sets his course towards the North, where the Avatar lies in wait.


	9. Disruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oddity shines through when the veil splits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9! Sorry for the wait, I had an idea that ran off and took me with it that delayed this chapter a little bit. TW: death, destruction, grief/mourning, eldritch horror description. The bit about Kuzon was inspired by Vathara's [Embers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591783/chapters/7921653). I hope y'all like it!

The Planes of the World are not so separate that they make worlds of their own; rather, the Physical takes its shape and the Spiritual folds around it, openings on either end.

That is not to say that the Planes are held together perfectly; there are places of tautness and wrinkles draped just as fine silks.

On the peaks of high mountains the Realms catch and pull tight, thinning the veil to the eyes of those who understand. The Air Nomads did not gain their spiritual knowledge just from centuries of teachings. The taut nature of the connections always risks tearing, but careful upkeep maintains the sites as honors and not dangers.

In the deep valleys and flat plains, the veil wrinkles and envelops the little places within. Deep forests gain guardians, massive deserts the stores of knowledge.

When poison spreads it catches in the pockets and  _ festers _ , leaking resentment and pain and destruction. Whatever spills through contaminates, and that which is tainted returns.

There are no grey moralities in the eyes of the spirits; there is right, there is wrong, and there is righteous vengeance for harms inflicted.

A little forested village is subject to the same laws when a regiment blows through, leaving naught but acorns and burned acres in their wake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Senlin Village is quiet and quaint, the people kind but wary. 

It’s too quiet.

Scorched earth crumbles easily, ash scattering and catching the winds. Acorns sit but do not take in the layers of dirt burned out of soil.

There are no spirits of bark and leaf to ease new growth, none of claws nor writhing bodies to break the earth and sift it.

There is a tear in the veil, a distortion in empty air, and only one remains that would use it.

The old guardian drinks the poison of catastrophe and feasts on the fear of those left behind.

  
  
  


Zuko has passed sixteen years now as a child of Fire, its protection almost absolute.

This is where it fails him; in a little village on the outskirts of a province that has been ravaged by Fire with a spirit that despises Fire not with a burning passion but a cold, corrosive hatred.

Sokka calls for it to halt, to end its cause of hatred and fear, to pause and remember. Aang puts weight to word and calls for peace, for order.

It is not enough.

The spirit, black and white like the char and ash of the ground, reaches out an over-articulated limb and 

  
  
  


s t r e t c h e s

  
  
  


w 

a

r

p  s

  
  


d i

s

t  o

r

t s

The mask of a water demon strikes the dusty ground, torn ribbons trailing from its sides.

  
  
  


Sokka looks at the falling dust where Zuko stood moments ago and feels the numbness of failure in his bones. 

Years spent guarding in the cold and dark, waiting for something to take his sister, did not prepare him to be blindsided like this, to let a spirit of malice flit by and tear away so easily through a veil thinner than that of home.

He follows Aang through the tattered veil into a world of color and oddity, and swears not vengeance but duty.

  
  
  


Aang follows the dragon who his memory knows and receives a vision of guidance, of a past life’s remembrance. He sees eyes of gold flash blue and thinks of the same light he sees behind a mask.

Sokka finds the reflection of a barren forest, this one without any hope of regrowth. Poison litters the ground, fumes rising and drowning out all that would have lived there. He cannot find a guardian who might put this place to rights.

Zuko thrashes in the grasp of a twisted spirit, trying to reach back to where he was taken from. He looks at sharp teeth, at elongated limbs, at eyes that hold no sign of mercy and breathes life into choked veins, stretched and torn by poison’s reshaping.

Aang holds out an acorn to the guardian of a little destroyed forest, and it changes, from monstrous form to something small, unassuming. The forest spits Zuko and Sokka out, the guardian pleased, having no more need for tribute.

Sokka pinches closed a torn veil and hopes it will be enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aang clings on to Zuko’s back as Druk carries them across the ocean, the sun high but sinking all the while. Appa is strong, and fast when he wants to be, but nothing can compare to the speed of a dragon.

Aang talks of rescuing eggs with Kuzon, of years of travel and sampling all the world has to offer.

Zuko shakes slightly, and asks if Aang’s Kuzon was Kuzon of Byakko, of the outlying islands.

Aang knew Kuzon 100 years ago, but still remembers meeting him on a little volcanic island that his family held strong.

Zuko, voice breaking slightly, talks of his mother, and her father, and her stories passed down to him of two boys saving a dragon’s clutch, told in the dark where Ozai could not hear, his sister beside him. Of his grandfather’s fostering of grey-eyed families, and the art they carried with them, in knowledge used to save their lives. Of what he faced in protecting them from the Caldera throne.

Aang cries into Zuko’s shoulder, quiet through the roar of wind. Meeting Bumi was a breath of hope, that all might not be changed, that something still remained of a time long past. 

Knowing Kuzon’s fate chips away at that hope, just enough to bring forth the grief he is still holding back.

  
  
  


Getting into the Fire Temple with Agni’s chosen is simple; Zuko leads Aang into the inner sanctum quickly and opens the door with precise blasts of flame. Aang enters alone and listens to the wisdom of his past life, of Sozin’s comet and the help of fellow vessels, of Gyatso’s power in truth.

  
  


What is not easy is leaving. The Eternal Flame within the public chambers hums and shines bright, color flickering within, alerting the remaining Sages to their presence. 

Admiral Zhao’s fleet arrives just as they exit the temple, pursued by the Fire Sages. He lays out a gauntlet, even as the Temple shakes and glows ominously.

Zuko tosses Aang onto Druk’s back and turns to face Zhao, the weight of duty settling beside his heart. 

It is not often that vessels give displays of power; most are legends now, of those who led their people in the face of adversity.

Zuko faces Zhao and fights with honor, with skill, with everything he has been taught by the dragons who raised him. 

He fights Zhao to a standstill, to yielding with honor. 

Zhao aims fire at his back as he turns to help Aang slow the lava as much as he can. The flames strike, but do not burn. 

There is little that can burn Zuko now, on the day of his joining with the sun. The fire held to his face by the Fire Lord was the last that could.

Zuko turns, knocks Zhao back with a sweep of his hand and tugs Aang back on to Druk. 

They leave the Temple in ruins behind them, lava flowing toward the shore as the Fire Sages board Navy ships and catapults launch fireballs at the fleeing dragon. Druk dodges with ease, and flies away from the setting sun, toward the onset of night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|Primordial|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They reunite with Sokka and Katara on the outskirts of a little town with a seedy pier. Posters bearing their likenesses already line the fronts of shops, rewards for fugitives of the Fire Nation allotted accordingly.


End file.
